Habitual
by nessa-melwasul
Summary: Suddenly he doesn't know what to do or what to say, but he knows he has to say something before she opens her eyes. Before the morning shatters into a thousand pieces.


It was a ritual of theirs, one that they loved and cherished. They did it every morning and every night, religiously. He'd sneak up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, whispering, "What's up, beautiful?"

"Nothin' but the Vipers in the sky with the rain, Adama."

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout, beautiful?"

"You, Adama."

Then she'd twist around in his hold, slipping her arms around his neck, grinning that infatuating grin, nudging his hips with hers, body language begging him to kiss her. He'd raise an eyebrow, murmuring, "Make me."

"Shut the frack up and kiss me, you bastard."

He would.

It fascinated his brother.

It fascinated him so much that once he tried it, and they made up their own ritual - but it was different. He'd sneak up behind her and tug on the ends of her cropped blonde hair, grinning, "What's up, cocky?"

"Nothin' but the vipers in the sky, Adama."

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout, cocky?"

"A Viper, Adama... With your brother in it."

Then they'd both laugh, and she'd turn around and wink at him before walking away, flipping her hair in her face. It was an action meant to tease him.

It did.

In the period of time immediately after Zac's death, it changed dramatically.

It became a mixture of old and new, a conglomerate that both respected Zac and acknowledged the fact that they had to move on. He'd walk up beside her and put his hands on her shoulders, saying quietly, "Kara, Kara, Kara..."

"Lee, Lee, Lee."

"What's up, Kara?"

"Nothin' but the Vipers in the sky with the rain."

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout, Kara?"

"A Viper, Adama..."

But she was never able to finish the sentence. She'd sigh and let one of her hands slip up to cover his, then turn and walk away. He'd tug at her hair as she left, but she never looked back.

They wouldn't laugh.

It changed again, to fit circumstances.

It became something that only they understood, but they never really meant it - it was just something safe to do, some semblance of order and familiarity in the end of the world. It was like a script, and they were like actors. Every single morning she'd wake up, walk to her locker, and touch the picture hanging on the inside of the door. She'd do it three times, running her fingers over each of the three faces. Zac, Kara, Lee. Zac, Kara, Lee. Zac, Kara, Lee. She'd pause on the last time, close her eyes and silently pray to the Gods to save her soul that day. Snap her eyes open and slam the locker shut, then turn to find him ambling over. He knew her morning ritual. He was a part of it, and he'd always deliver his line on time - "What's up, Starbuck?"

"Nothin' but the Vipers in the sky, Apollo."

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout, Starbuck?"

"Nothin' but the Vipers in the sky, Apollo."

Then she'd sigh and grant him a sleepy half-smile before walking away. He'd frown and sigh also, studying her retreating back with scrutiny.

He didn't like it.

Today is like every other day.

It's something she does every day. Today is no exception. She wakes up, walks to her locker, and touches the picture hanging on the inside of the door. She does it three times, running her fingers over each of the three faces. Zac, Kara, Lee. Zac, Kara, Lee. Zac, Kara, Lee. She pauses on the last time, closes her eyes and silently prays to the Gods to save her soul today. She snaps her eyes open, but she doesn't slam the locker shut. Instead, she happens to glance in the mirror hanging just underneath the picture, to see him ambling over. He delivers his line on time - "What's up, Starbuck?"

But today her answer is different. "Don't you ever miss it?"

He frowns. "Miss what?"

She sighs, turning her head ever so slightly; just enough to toss him a helpless, keening look that tugs at the correct string in his heart. He takes a few steps forward, putting both hands on her shoulders, breathing, "Kara...?"

"Everything," she snaps, maybe a little too quickly. He flenches, but she keeps going, softening her tone just the slightest."Everything - the rain, the rituals, the Vipers... Zac. Everything."

He nods and lets his arms drift down to encircle her waist, his hands ghosting the sides of her body as he does. "Yeah. All the time." He lets his head drop to her shoulder; it fits perfectly into her neck. Just like Zac's. The thought dawns in their heads at the same time. She doesn't like it, somehow.

"Don't," she says, but her tone says "do." Her hands find his in a feeble attempt to make him let her go, but their fingers just end up intertwining themselves. He blows a playful breath of warm air across her face, smiling sadly when she closes her eyes, half trembling under his lips on her cheek. He doesn't realize he's kissing her till it's too late. Her face in the mirror is a mask of memory, and he remembers, too. Suddenly he doesn't know what to do or what to say, but he knows he has to say something before she opens her eyes. Before the morning shatters into a thousand pieces. So he says the first thing that comes to mind - "What's up, beautiful?"

But she doesn't answer, just twists in his arms to see his face. "Frack it, Lee."

He rolls his eyes. "Frack you too, Thrace."

She slams the locker shut. The mirror inside breaks. He grimaces, but she doesn't bat an eye, just turns her back and walks away.

End of ritual.


End file.
